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Mom: Bobby and Ruth’s son, Jason, is going to be at the party tomorrow. I’ve been dying for you two to meet! He works in sales!

Phoebe scowled. Her mother had never bothered to learn what Phoebe did for a living. She thought marketing was the same thing as being a car salesman.

But she didn’t want her mom to worry. And she needed to get this over with. So she snapped a quick selfie in front of the sunny window in Arden’s bedroom and sent it along with a message: I’m in Florida! Needed a vacation. Sorry I will miss the party this year. Love you!

Her mom responded, Florida? Have you been kidnapped? Send an emoji if you’ve been kidnapped. Any emoji!!!!!!

Phoebe replied, Mom, please. I have not been kidnapped. I’m here on a solo vacation. Ask Sam. Give my best to Jason, LOL.

Her mother sent back ten sobbing emojis.

Phoebe tossed her phone on the bed and started the shower.

Downtown High Springs—if you could call it a downtown—was everything Phoebe had hoped it would be. Main Street was quiet and sleepy, the shopfronts decorated with baubles and tinsel and Santa Claus window decals. Phoebe parked Arden’s Mini Cooper in one of the plentiful parking spots. As she walked in the dappled shade of towering oak trees, the warm air felt heavenly on Phoebe’s bare skin. She noted with amusement that the locals were bundled up, a stark contrast to her denim shorts and T-shirt. But anything above sixty degrees felt like spring break weather to her.

She walked past an antiques shop and a few quaint restaurants and then gasped in delight when she turned the corner. In front of her was an adorable blue house with a sign out front that read, “Colsie Coffee, Bakeshop, Gifts.” She’d been searching for coffee, and this town had delivered.

Phoebe settled into a roomy table beside a window, waiting for her order to be called. The shop hummed with happy people sipping coffee and feasting on baked goods.

“Santa’s Sugar Cookie,” the barista called out.

When Phoebe approached the counter to grab her drink—she hadn’t been able to resist the most festive-sounding option on the menu—a man had already taken it.

“So sorry, but I ordered the hot version, not iced,” he was saying to the young woman behind the counter.

“I think that’s mine,” Phoebe said sweetly, leaning in to catch his eye.

“Oh!” He dropped the drink back on the counter. Some of the whipped cream sloshed over the side of the cup. “My apologies. That explains the mix-up.”

Phoebe beamed up at the man. He was tall with short dark hair and ice-blue eyes that were currently wide with mortification.

“No worries! Unless you drank some!” Phoebe reached around him for a napkin.

“I definitely did not.” The man thanked the barista as she handed him a hot Santa’s Sugar Cookie latte.

Phoebe winked at him and the barista, then turned to head back to her table.

“Do you want to join me? I have a table over there.” The man pointed.

Phoebe hesitated. Surely, a little meet-cute like this was harmless. She’d get right back to work after. “Why not?”

They sipped their beverages together and exchanged basic information. His name was Carter, and he was a local who had gone to college in nearby Gainesville and stayed there for a career as a water technician. He was back in High Springs visiting his parents for Christmas. He peppered Phoebe with questions about Seattle, comparing it to what he knew of San Francisco from the weekend trip he’d once taken there. With every mention of “San Fran,” as he called it, Phoebe felt herself growing restless. When the conversation devolved into a detailed explanation of how to test water samples for lead, without Carter asking Phoebe a single question about marketing, it was clear that their meet-cute was circling the drain.

Phoebe checked the time on her phone, which led to her checking text messages, which led to her feeling rude, which led to her saying, “It was so nice to meet you, Carter, but I need to get going. By the way, do you know if there’s a pharmacy nearby?”

Not only did Carter know where the pharmacy was, he was also a fellow sufferer of cat allergies. He walked Phoebe to the allergy medications, recommended his favorite kind, and made small talk with her and the cashier.

“Is the pharmacy closing up early tonight for the festival?” Carter asked.

The cashier, an eager-looking young woman, nodded. “It’s so generous of Dr. Allen, isn’t it? The Christmas festival is my favorite.”

“Christmas festival?” Phoebe was intrigued.

The young woman nodded again, handing Phoebe the paper bag containing her medication. “We have festivals for everything here. Halloween, Thanksgiving.”

“Easter, the Fourth of July,” Carter added. “You should definitely stop by the Christmas fair while you’re in town, Phoebe.”

“Oh, definitely!” The cashier looked so delighted, Phoebe could only agree.